


A Proposition

by ecouterbien



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mild Sexual Content, Sexual Frustration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 09:41:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3687456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecouterbien/pseuds/ecouterbien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My companion flushed up with pleasure at my words, and the earnest way in which I uttered them. <br/>(from A Study in Scarlet)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Proposition

Sherlock is hovering in the bathroom doorway, unusually for him, Joan is used to him barging right in whenever he feels like it. She continues to brush her teeth, wondering how long he will be able to stand there, fingers twitching, longing to enlighten her with whatever piece of evidence he’s uncovered overnight.

He clears his throat. Joan turns to look at him, pretending she’s just noticed him.

“Watson, I thought I’d take this opportunity while you mouth is otherwise indisposed to make you a proposition that you might find quite beneficial,” he clears his throat again, “You are of course under no obligation to accept it, but let me preface it by saying that you would be ignoring an undeniable sense of logic if you did, in fact, refuse to accept it.”

Joan stares at him quizzically.

“Well, Watson, it’s quite simple,” he clears his throat again.

“Are you nervous? Do you want some water?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Watson, I am merely offering to help you with something that seems to have become a problem for you. It is based purely on logic.”

Joan can feel her eyes glazing over and turns back to the sink. Her teeth will just have to get an extra brushing while he says whatever it is he has to say.

“I deduced from your increasingly tense gait and the lack of nocturnal comings and goings from the basement that you haven’t had intercourse in quite some time.” Joan spits frothy toothpaste into the sink and glares at him incredulously.

“How would you even know what my nocturnal comings and goings are?”

“The security cameras do not lie, Watson.”

“Oh my god, are you watching me again?”

“I am merely making a daily assessment of the footage for security purposes.”

“Well don’t. And what do security purposes have to do with my sex life anyway? Not that it’s any of your business.”

“That is exactly what I am proposing, Watson. As you know, I don’t believe in letting my sexual urges distract me from my work, and find that quenching them is highly beneficial -“

“- I am not washing your sex blanket, Sherlock, I’ve already told you to take it to the dry-cleaner if you want it cleaned.”

“This is not about my bear skin rug, Watson, not unless you want it to be.”

“What?”

“You have been somewhat distracted of late. I am proposing that you avail yourself of my services to quench yourself, sexually. Now I have thought about it, Watson, and it makes a lot of sense. It has not passed my attention that, unlike myself, you show an aversion to hiring the services of someone to relieve your sexual frustration –“

“- I’m not sexually frustrated!”

“If you say so. Now, as I was saying, you dislike the impersonal, the merely transactional, but you are also disinclined to the burden of romantic intimacy, no?”

Joan is silent. She hates it when he’s right, but she has no intention of letting him know that he is. She leans against the wall opposite the door where he still stands, the empty expanse doesn’t distance her from him as much as she’d hoped.

“In light of this I believe that me offering myself for sexual purposes makes sense. I am someone that you are familiar with, that you trust, but as we are both adults and both aptly able to emotionally compartmentalise, there’s no danger of misunderstanding physical exertion for romantic affection. And though I can’t deny feeling a certain frisson from time to time when in your presence, it would, of course, be undertaken with the utmost professionalism; you would dictate the terms, et cetera, et cetera.”

Joan forgets she is even brushing her teeth. A glob of toothpaste dribbles down her chin and lands with splotch on her foot. She wipes her chin, blinks twice, gathers herself.

“Et cetera, et cetera, that’s how you’re going to proposition me?”

“I am not propositioning you, I am making a proposition.”

“You really think this is the time for semantics?”

“Oh, Watson, stop quibbling!”

“Says the man who just told me making a sexual proposition isn’t propositioning.”

“I see you need more time to think this through, Watson, I understand. It’s not a decision to be taken lightly, but before I leave you may I remind you how immensely beneficial this would be for our working relationship.”

Joan is annoyed at how distracted Sherlock’s proposition has made her, it’s been three days since he approached her and she’s been fixated on it since then. She’s missed important evidence and trains of thoughts and opportunities to needle suspects that even an amateur wouldn’t. Surprisingly, Sherlock, ever willing to take an opportunity to pry open a misstep to find what’s underneath, has left her to her thoughts. Thoughts she hadn’t ever imagined herself having. Now all she can think of is being naked and splayed beneath him on the red table downstairs, or her legs wrapped around his waist as his collection of locks dig into her back and he whispers _do it again_ in her ear. For a proposition that was meant to strip her of all distraction and sexual frustration it’s proving to have the opposite effect.

She shifts restlessly from one side of the bed to the other, finally settling and staring hopelessly at the ceiling. _He didn’t know how right he was, or did he?_ The glowing red light of her alarm clock shows that it’s 3:27am, she can hear a thwacking noise downstairs. She kicks off the covers and pads as silently as she can down the stairs. His back is turned as she leans on the doorframe and watches him. Unlike three days ago, he doesn’t notice she’s there until she starts talking.

“I’ve thought about your offer,” she says in what she hopes is a neutral voice.

“And?”

She crosses the room to where he’s standing, pushes him hard against the wall and kisses him, biting down on his bottom lip. He doesn’t even flinch. _This will be fun_ , she thinks. She pulls away from him, her eyes locked on his.

“I’m _not_ sexually frustrated.”


End file.
